


Across the Sea

by angelheadedhipster



Series: Pinkerton Project [5]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Dreams, M/M, Masturbation, Short, Singapore, Songfic, Thing - Freeform, ok then
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-24
Updated: 2013-11-24
Packaged: 2018-01-02 13:12:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1057188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelheadedhipster/pseuds/angelheadedhipster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bond shouldn’t have let it happen in the first place. </p><p>A burst of static, and then that voice on his radio.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Across the Sea

Bond shouldn’t have let it happen in the first place.

A burst of static, and then that voice on his radio. “What do you see, 007?” Another question.

He should have asked for another analyst, or he should have stopped using the earpieces to communicate. He should have understood what was happening, how young Q was, practically a child. When this all started, it was Q’s first time he was doing this. And Bond was the first agent he was doing it with.

“Nothing out of the ordinary yet. Two guards on the perimeter, armed. Cameras in the corners. Possibly motion sensors near the door,” said Bond.

He certainly shouldn’t have encouraged it, or played along. He hadn’t realized he was doing it, at first. He thought he was just being friendly. He was told, often, to be friendly to his colleagues, and he treated it like any other order, applying himself in a disciplined fashion.

He feinted left, then right, and started across the courtyard, concrete on all sides. Two shots, and the guards were down.

So when the voice in his ear started asking him questions, questions that had nothing to do with missions, Bond was friendly. He responded, he answered, he made conversation. His hobbies. His favorite food and his birthday.

“I’ve disabled the locks on the door, and the sensors,” said the voice in his ear, sharp and professional. Bond wasn’t sure if he heard an undercurrent of excitement in it, or if he just wanted to. “You should be clear to go in now.”

Those first questions were a year ago; it had been a year now since they’d been talking. Since Q started asking him questions. He shouldn’t have let it happen.

He pushed the door open with his shoulder, and there it was. Three more shots, and a scream, and two more.

“Target acquired,” Bond said, rubbing his fingers over the metal in his hands, feeling the ridges and grooves of the chip.

“Well done, Bond!” said Q in his ear, and Bond could hear the smile over the airwaves, across the ocean, and tried to ignore the twisting in his stomach. Tried not to think, though he was fairly certain it was true, that he did the missions now just to hear that.

“Your next rendezvous point is in the Yu Gardens, in an hour,” said Q.

There was a pause, and despite the whole past year, Bond still wondered if Q had disconnected. If he had, it would be the first time, and yet he felt his pulse pick up, nervousness in his mouth.

“What was your favorite television show when you were a child?” came the voice through his speaker, and Bond smiled, relieved that only corpses could see the goofiness of his grin. “And why?”

+++

That night, alone in his hotel room, Bond said in his mind what he never said out loud to Q. _Why are you so far away from me?_

The room seemed too warm, the sheets too cold. He felt stretched and strung out, exhausted. He wasn’t being friendly anymore, he knew that. He was obsessing, he was becoming dangerous. To himself, and to Q, who he had not even seen in more than a year. Hopping around the world, never back in London, for Bond Q was just a voice in his ear, words and imaginings. He sounded so fragile, so refined. Bond was drowning.

He rolled over, hand going to his cock, as he knew it would. Bond screwed his eyes shut and gave in, feeling the rush of sensation and the stiffening under his hand. He shouldn’t be doing this, he knew that. He could never touch the real Q, he thought it would be wrong. But this…

There was lotion on the side of the bed, of course, and Bond grabbed some and started moving his hand faster. It was remarkable, really, how quickly his mind turned to what he wanted. Maybe he’d been thinking about it all day, wondering about what Q was wearing even as he answered his questions, even as he met with his contact, even as he heard the screams of the people he killed.

He couldn’t do this much longer, he thought. Live on words and dreams, and a million screams. He needed help, and what he wanted was way across the sea.

Bond thought about Q’s voice, about the clothes he wore to work, stroking himself slowly. He wanted it to last, and he knew it wouldn’t. He tried to start slow, but then he thought about Q taking off those clothes, whatever they were, and cursed himself, again, for being so far away. He started moving his hand faster, thinking about how much he needed a hand in his to feel, and then thought about Q doing the same, across the sea. Touching himself and maybe thinking about Bond. About Q asking different questions. _What do you want to see me do? What’s your favorite way to come? Do you like that? Will you fuck me harder?_

At that, Bond came, even faster than he expected, biting his lip and gasping.

He stared at the ceiling, a tingling in his toes and Q’s voice running through his mind. “Goddamn.”


End file.
